


A Hundred Miles

by trainthief



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Canon compliant for the most part, Canon-Typical Violence, M/M, Not a whole ton of it though, Slow(ish) Burn, Some swears do happen despite MacCready's best efforts, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-15
Updated: 2016-06-03
Packaged: 2018-06-02 10:34:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 14,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6562891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trainthief/pseuds/trainthief
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The apocalypse left little time for bigotry, but when you've lived your life in fear you can't help but worry. </p><p>The Sole Survivor is named Ben and he's trans. MacCready is still named MacCready, and he's a little bit in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own Bethesda or its characters. If I did you'd be able to romance Nick Valentine, and there'd be a whole ton more kissing.

The apocalypse left very little time for bigotry. 

That was the first conclusion to which Ben came as he stumbled out of the vault elevator, blinking blearily at the torched earth and armed only with a stolen 10 mm gun and his own half-baked form of charisma.

The apocalypse left very little time for bigotry, and that was because there was likely no one left. He was, for a short but horrifying amount of time, convinced that he may be the sole surviving human among Mr. Handy robots - and while he loved Codsworth like any man would his peppy butler, he thought he might throttle him in the eye sockets if he was forced to accept him as his only potential companion in this unforgiving hellscape. Besides that, Codsworth knew all about his secret, and was genuinely terrible at keeping it. Much as Ben took pride in his transition to the extent that he could - or at least had, back when other humans and their socially taught bias' had been around to complicate things - he had little desire to give Codsworth fodder for whatever Mr. Handy gossip chain had been established in the post-nuclear world. 

So he thanked Codsworth for the information he had shared, did his best to calm him of his hysteria and assure him he’d be back, packed away his medication - which the robot had been dutifully keeping on hand for almost 200 years - and set off with those baleful metal appendages waving him farewell in his dust. 

Thankfully, it wasn't too long before he came across a living, breathing, and seemingly normal creature in the form of Dogmeat. How and why the German shepherd had escaped the effects of the radiation that Ben still imagined he could feel on his tingling forearms, he did not know. But his presence signaled that there were likely a few others out there. Maybe with 2 heads, or an extra set of limbs and a short life expectancy, but God, they were out there. And that meant danger, for him more than many others, because if people existed then so did bigotry. 

Dogmeat, for his part, lacked the ability to be bothered by any part of his past, and for that he counted himself lucky. Over the coming months, that luck maintained itself to some degree, as he met Valentine, Piper, and even Paladin Danse for a brief and confusing moment. Those he interacted with either knew about his transition and didn't care, or had yet to figure it out. In the case of Nick, Ben was certain nothing had slipped past the searching eyes of Diamond City's best private dick - no matter how well passed - but aside from the occasional reminder to take his testosterone shot when he had forgotten after the days on the road blurred together, he didn't mention it. Ben, a lover of good old fashioned silence, appreciated this. 

Everything changed, however, when he stumbled (quite literally) across a short, and admittedly easy on the eyes, man while having a well deserved post-witnessing-the-mayor-of-Goodneighbor-knife-someone drink at the Third Rail.

Well, a drink or five. 

In fact, by the time he walked into the clearly occupied room on his quest for a toilet, he was well over the driving limit, were cars even still operable (a clearly unfunny thought that still made him snicker). 

The men in the room, for their part, stared for a moment at the bleary-eyed interruption, before returning to whatever menacing conversation they had clearly been engaged in. 

Ben immediately took the side of the smaller man in his blurry mind, as he watched and forced himself to get a grip. Partially because two against one were odds that were unfair no matter what the guy had done, nor how big and menacing his gun (another snicker). Another part of it was just the fact that the guy was attempting to hold his own in a conversation that clearly scared him, a feat that was both admirable and adorable on that scowling face of his. 

Ben had always been selective about those he let close to him, even before the war. Despite his easy ability to charm, he was a loner at heart, and had a deep fear of being rejected after those he let near were to know about his past. 

But, he decided, there was no time for bigotry in the apocalypse, and right then and there his drunken mind decided to give this stranger a chance.

**********

MacCready began the day as he had the majority of others in the recent past: with a splitting headache. Living in a bar while trying to get small jobs to send money to his dying son was not exactly an equation for sobriety, but lately those headaches were of the exact opposite variety. He had promised himself he'd clean up his act for Duncan, and that meant twice the headache whenever the mood struck, but with none of the fun beforehand. Quitting was a bitch. Or maybe he was. 

No matter how great his track record had been in the last month, however, the two faces that had appeared in his rented room that day were enough to drive him to the bottle again, if anything was. The second Winlock and Barnes had shown their ugly mugs, a combination of fear and hysteria had pulsed through his veins like a bad dose of psycho. The feeling was cut in half like a knife through ripe mutfruit, however, with the interruption of a completely shitfa - or, drunk, that is - stranger. 

The man had stumbled in right as the Disgusting Duo were at that sweet spot in the conversation, where they threatened to kill him while simultaneously shaking him down for everything he owned. MacCready wasn't sure if the timing was perfect or terrible, but either way, the man effectively cut the discussion short, with a humongous laser rifle slung on his back and a dangerous look that was still clear behind foggy eyes as he seemed to assess the situation to the best of his inhibited ability. Whoever he was, MacCready hoped he was on his side. 

Winlock and Barnes were clearly thrown off by the interruption, and retreated with only a vague promise of future violence to remember them by. MacCready watched their retreating backs with the adrenaline of anger still pumping through his veins. He then rounded on the newcomer. 

"If you're here preaching about the Atom or something, I'm not interested. If you're looking for a hired gun, maybe we can talk." 

He propositioned the man the way he would anyone else, although even in his inebriated state the guy hardly looked to need protection. With features that seemed like they had once been soft before being hardened by chem use or violence or just plain living, the man certainly had a dangerous vibe. But… and this didn’t mean that MacCready gave half a molerat's ass about him… he had a look of desperation and determination that MacCready recognized. It was the same one he saw in the mirror, on the rare occasion that he ever came across one. The guy was clearly fighting for something impossible, and that sort of baggage was exactly what MacCready made it a policy to avoid in future employers. 

And yet..... 

"I'm looking for some help, sure. I assume you know your way around that gun."

He scoffed. "The things been by my side since I was 16, so I'd say so. Best damn shot this side of the Commonwealth. Aren't you going to ask me who those guys were?" 

The man shrugged his broad shoulders lazily. "From what I gathered you ditched out on the gunners. That counts for a point in my book." 

That answer was all MacCready needed. Though he had no set going rate, and the man absolutely smelled of caps in the colonial-era uniform he wore (who did he think he was, Hancock?) he decided to lowball him. 

"250 caps is my fee. Non-negotiable" 

What he got in return was a look that was way more calculatedly suggestive than should've been possible for someone so drunk. "Everything's negotiable". 

Crap. "You drive a hard bargain," (he really didn't, why was he doing this), "200 caps. Now let's get this show on the road"

As he accepted the handful of caps with care, he wondered what in god's name had gotten into him. He needed much more money than this, and he needed it fast. Was he really so desperate? As he admitted the obvious answer to himself, he shouldered his gun and followed the man out. 

Oh well, if the job was crap, he could always kill his boss and take the amount he deserved. Corpses couldn't give bad reviews.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's where we start getting gay. Enjoy.

The night he was hired was uneventful, with his new boss (“Ben”, as he insisted on being called, although he was always just Boss in MacCready’s head) tripping his way toward a rented room in Hotel Rexford and crashing – out of kindness or confusion or some drunken combination of the two – on the couch, leaving MacCready to a bed bigger than he’d had the luck to experience in years. For this reason, and possibly for some small level of trust he had already graced his new companion with, he slept soundly through the night, and woke the next morning with a clear head and a (relatively) positive mood. 

While the first 24 hours may have been uneventful, however, the next two weeks were anything but. Ben seemed dead set on fighting everyone who so much as looked at them funny the second they stepped outside of the city gates, and at times it seemed he had them wander the outskirts of Jamaica Plains just looking for trouble in the form of unwitting raiders or super mutants. But the hauls afterwards almost made the recklessness worth it, and MacCready soon found his duster jingling at every step he took with the excess caps his boss insisted on sharing between them – a moral move that made absolutely no sense to him, but one he wouldn’t complain about. 

What he would complain about, however, was being forced to lug around old lamps and teddy bears and desk fans, which Ben insisted were useful in some form or another. Admittedly, he was right, as he had seen the man turn useless junk into machine gun turrets, Brahmin feed troughs, and - on one memorable occasion - a full artillery cannon with an unbelievable range they had later used on an unwitting Deathclaw. 

The teddy bears, on the other hand, he felt were just to torture him. 

All in all, there was very little to do more than lightly complain about. His boss had a wicked sense of humor and a propensity to take things that didn’t belong to him - two traits MacCready liked already, and loved all the more when they were combined as they robbed Myrna from the Diamond City Surplus absolutely blind (after a particularly nasty comment about synths, and Nick Valentine in particular) only to sell her back her own belongings, including the gun in her pocket, just minutes later. 

His grudging enjoyment of his employer slowly built itself up, until it surprised him by reaching a point at which he was genuinely considering asking for Ben’s help with the gunner situation. The man had trusted MacCready with more in the single month of their working together than most people had his entire life, and for once he had no inclination to break that trust – at least not for the foreseeable future. That trust was what led him to sit by the dwindling fire, which they had begun to let die now that dusk was upon them and its light would give them away, and search for the right words to ask his boss for a favor. 

This was breaking just about every rule he had ever set for himself, both in employment and in general. 

“Hey, uh, boss? Have you got a second?” 

Ben looked up from the scope of his rifle, which he had been lazily using to watch some radstags pick their way through the trees a few hundred yards to their left. His face clearly expressed the fact that he knew something was up, but he answered nonchalantly as ever. “Sure thing, Creads. What’s up?” 

MacCready allowed himself a dramatic eyeroll at that stupid nickname before pressing on. “Well, I’ve got a bit of a problem. You know those guys who were hassling me the night we met?” 

“Winlock and Barnes?” 

MacCready gave him a look of surprise at his even remembering the night at all, with the state he’d been in. “Yeah, those bast – um, I mean…” 

“Jerkoffs? Shitheads? No good sons of bitches? Come on MacCready, swearing is good for the soul.” 

“Believe me, I know, I’m just… trying to clean up my act.” 

Ben gave him a look that clearly said that he had quite a ways to go, and MacCready threw an empty carton of Dandy Boy Apples at his head. “Sorry Creads, you were saying?” 

“Yeah, thanks boss. Anyway, I’ve been trying to save up enough money to pay them into leaving me alone, and I’ve almost got enough, but I was wondering….” He trailed off, expecting Ben to fill in the gaps for himself. When he got no reaction for a few seconds that felt like minutes, he began to babble nervously: “I mean, I could pay you back, I just feel like it’d be safer for you too, if I didn’t have anyone after me, and-“ 

“Let’s go kill those bastards.” 

Wait. What the – and he was going to allow himself this one – fuck? 

He knew he was expected to respond to this dramatic proposition, but he just stared, completely thrown by the generosity and… friendship, there was really no other word that fully described it, that was being shown to him. 

After a moment, he gathered his wits again. “Yeah, wow, thanks boss. I… yeah, that’d be even better. You’re sure you want to? They’re pretty hard to get to, you know”

“God, finally. If that pause was pregnant it would’ve had twins. Yes I’m sure. A friend in need and all that. Plus, the harder the challenge the better the caps at the end of it, I always say.” 

MacCready didn’t know what to say to that, still a bit shocked from the loyalty he was being shown by a man who had paid for his companionship, in a roundabout way of thinking about it. So he just sat there silently, and ate his now cold radstag soup while staring at the dying embers in the fire pit, and the dying light in the sky above it, feeling – for a brief moment - lucky. 

*****

 

The next time the sun showed its face, it was greeted with the dead tired but laughing duo as they made their way up to the edge of the gunner camp that was rumored to hold Winlock and Barnes. After a few hours of sleep, Ben had suggested they head out much earlier than usual in order to reach the camp at dawn, when their opponents would either be deep in sleep or groggy with the lack of it. MacCready, in the moment, would’ve given half his caps for the chance to sleep a bit longer, but now that he was more awake the enthusiasm about doing him a favor that was being shown by his employer was not only contagious but more than a little touching. 

“So then, right as it was about to kill me, I pulled out the egg from my rucksack – which by the way I was half worried I’d squashed when a super mutant hound knocked me on my ass earlier that day – and I handed it to the thing, and it immediately gave me these puppydog eyes that would totally put yours to shame. And after that it just let me pet it and play with it and whatever else I wanted.”

MacCready laughed, despite having heard the story before, and he allowed himself the luxury of not trying to figure out why that was. As they continued to search for a suitable place to improvise a sniper’s nest, trepidation began to build in his stomach like a fire, licking its way up to his throat and keeping him silent. He never liked to admit to anxiety, but in a situation like this it could surely be excused. As if reading his thoughts, his boss reached over and patted him on the back, before stooping to unlock an artillery box they had just come across. His companion’s concentration gave MacCready time to calm himself, and to admire the ease with which Ben outsmarted the lock and threw the thing open to examine its contents. 

“Cute little trick you’ve got there. You’ll have to teach me sometime.” 

Ben spared him a dramatic sigh, as if his talents deserved more sincere praise than that, and then – in a fluid but surprising motion – whipped out his gun and shot right past MacCready’s hip. He heard a grunt of pain and the thud of someone collapsing before he could even turn around, and when he did he saw a gunner private – probably not much older than he had been when he joined – dead on the ground, with a rifle set up among some rocks next to him positioned for a clear shot at MacCready’s head. 

“Don’t mind that, Creads. Just another cute trick.” 

MacCready probably would’ve thanked him if he hadn’t been so smug. 

*****

 

A few hours - and a handful of burns from an assaultron that just refused to die - later, MacCready found himself looking down the scope of his rifle from his perch on the top roadway of the Mass Pike Interchange as Ben walked confidently through the wreckage they had caused toward the still cocky Barnes, who – after a long sip from the cup full of whatever was his current vice (a gunner always had one) – began to drawl out some comment that clearly did little to impress Ben. He smirked as he watched his boss – mid conversation – reach nonchalantly around Barnes’ unsuspecting back in a gesture that would’ve seemed downright flirtatious had MacCready not known his intention, and grab the overcompensated gun the man always had at his side. The idiot didn’t even notice. 

He readjusted his sights, no longer worried about any issues coming from Barnes, and beginning to search for Winlock, who – if the stench in the air was anything to go by, though it likely wasn’t – was nearby. 

He barely caught a glimpse of the man, clearly aiming his gun at Ben from the darkness he was crouched in, before instinct took over intellect, and he took the shot without even bothering to brace himself. Though his urgency had probably resulted in a nice bruise for himself in the morning, he grinned widely as he watched Winlock get thrown back by the clean shot to his head, and he squeezed the trigger again to execute the kill shot. It was even better than the first. 

He heard gunfire ring out below him, and he adjusted to look at his boss once again, who was now standing over the prone body of Barnes with the deceased man’s own gun still smoking in his hands. 

MacCready laughed. What a sicko. 

There was no doubt about it, he admired him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whelp, we've introduced the characters, so its all uphill from here. I wrote this whole thing in one go (and there's 12 chapters plus a sweet little epilogue to look forward to/dread) but it's entirely unbeta'd, so any mistakes are mine and you should call me out on them. Because this thing is already done, I can post updates whenever, I'm just trying to gauge how much interest there is in this continuing. If you want to see more, please let me know via kudos/comments/small scrolls with hand-quilled reviews attached to foxes. 
> 
> And - as always - even if you hate what I've done here: thank you for reading, have a good day, and go play that new DLC!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for cigarette smoking and "your mom" jokes

If either of them were under the impression that Winlock and Barnes would be the most difficult things they’d face that week, it only took a little over 24 hours to prove them wrong. 

“Swan’s got a face only a mother could love. Are you sure you’re not related?” Ben said, managing to catch his companion’s eye mischievously as he hurled another Molotov down the side of the building on which they were currently perched. 

Swan roared, more in anger than in pain. 

“You’re right, boss. Your mom seemed to love my face just last night.” 

Ben snorted before he could stop himself. That type of forward joking had before been uncharacteristic of his hired mercenary, but the man had been walking on clouds ever since the Mass Pike Massacre -as they had lovingly coined it – had gone down, and there was very little that seemed to be off the table as a result. 

The building shuddered as a huge boulder cracked into its side, courtesy of the now furious Swan. Ben threw yet another Molotov cocktail over the side, as MacCready took advantage of the confusion it caused in its explosion by peppering the Behemoth’s shoulder with bullets. It was disheartening to watch, as the thing seemed as unaffected by their efforts as a feral by a gamma gun. 

“Well I’m officially calling it. I’m not usually one for the coward’s way out, but we’re going to need to wait till he leaves and sneak away” MacCready said, as he slumped against the lip of the wall and pulled out an extremely dirty cigarette, which Ben promptly pulled from his teeth and tossed over the side of the building with a nonchalance that was nothing short of infuriating. 

“And that kind of thinking, Creads, is why I should have fired you long ago. We’ve tried the long con, but if I’ve learned anything from my time pre-war it’s that where patience and planning are getting you nowhere, what you need is firepower.” 

And with that, he began to dig around in his pack until he was able to pull his trusty Fat Man from a tangle of spare armor and ammunition belts.

“Actually, boss, what you just described is exactly what caused the mess we’re living in now.”

Ben smiled. “What can I say? I love the nuclear option” and before MacCready could punch him for that disgrace of a pun he ducked away, beginning to arrange himself into a position that would accommodate the enormous kickback from the souped-up slingshot when it was fired. 

MacCready didn’t watch, opting to pull out another cigarette – this one possibly dirtier than the last – and listen to the whistle from the mini nuke as it cut through the air and almost coincided with the dying scream from Swan below. 

With a final halfhearted toss of a boulder that landed only a few feet from MacCready’s lounging form, it died. 

Ben looked over, a bit of concern in his eyes which quickly turned to exasperation when he saw MacCready looking unfazed and unhurt as he sat with the burning cigarette between his lips, not even bothering to properly smoke it, and staring up at the darkening sky. 

**** 

They encountered few other problems as they followed the winding and nonsensical red line that was the Freedom Trail toward a destination unknown. (Or maybe it was known, but not to Ben, as he had never been one to pay attention in class.) 

This lack of distractions – as well as his partner’s comfort with silence, a trait that Ben appreciated – allowed him a false sense of safety and some time to truly consider the situation he had gotten himself into these past few months. 

When he had first come into this strange new world, he had thought that there would be no time or space for bigotry, but he quickly learned that he was wrong. Bigotry persisted, it just came in new forms. Racial inequality had made itself scarce, as had homophobia. Classism was still very much in play, though, as was a newly developed hatred for synths – a topic he still wasn’t totally sure where he stood on, although his deep affinity for Nick Valentine had already done its job in helping him decide. As for any reactions to his own… unique situation, he wasn’t quite sure that anyone here had ever heard of it before. If they had, it hadn’t been mentioned, as he’d had the luck not to encounter any transphobia of any kind during his time Post-Nuclear. 

He smiled weakly to himself, as he remembered the thought process that had led to his actual transition: Yes, your family and your friends and your society expect you to play the role they set apart for you… But if the world were to end tomorrow, and you were the only survivor, with no expectations of you either way, how would you present yourself? 

Apparently he was better at planning for the future than he’d thought. 

****

When they reached the end of the line – quite literally – and found themselves at an old church overrun with ferals, MacCready had been about ready to drop his gun and punch them all to death out of pure frustration. The high from the amazing loot Swan had been carrying had long since worn off, and he’d come crashing down to a point of annoyance like he hadn’t felt since his time with the gunners (the insufferable dickwads). He’d kill for a cigarette, but he’d just wasted his last one on the roof hours ago (and he hadn’t even been able to enjoy it, he’d been so lost in his thoughts). 

His bad mood turned foul, however, once they found their way into the operation running in the basement. 

The Railroad, as they’d smugly called themselves, seemed to be full of uptight assh- or, jerks, he meant. Jerkoffs was probably more accurate, as they seemed so busy stroking their own egos it made him wonder where their other metaphorical hand was. Oh sure, “blah blah blah, we’re saving the commonwealth”, as if that wasn’t something he and his boss did every day, and without such an organized operation behind it. 

Of course they loved Ben, and were dying to have him join – each in their own way. He felt admittedly proud of travelling with such a reputable companion, and knowing that some of the stories they referenced had been with himself right by his boss’ side. Ben, for his part, seemed to be loving it – even if he was slightly uncomfortable in a way that wasn’t obvious unless you knew him. His hands stayed on his gun, a bit tighter than normal, and he kept making eye contact with MacCready - although to say what, he didn’t know.

In fact, he didn’t know and he didn’t care, quite frankly, cause anything he wanted to tell someone he could no doubt tell Deacon. The man – who was wearing sunglasses indoors, it needed to be pointed out – had introduced himself by the door, and had since spent his time making himself real chummy with Ben. Not that it mattered much to MacCready – Ben could have whatever friends or…. others – he wanted. But Ben tended to travel in pairs, and MacCready had been enjoying a good thing so much he’d forgotten it likely wouldn’t last. In the last few weeks he’d made great money in acceptable company, and with the life he’d had that felt like a luxury. He’d even been considering asking Ben’s help with Duncan, although the man had already done more for him than any person – besides Lucy – ever had or ever would. 

He was a good guy in all the wrong ways, and a bad one in all the right ones, that was for sure. And as MacCready thought this through - staring disdainfully at Deacon as he and Ben chatted enthusiastically - he was surprised to realize he didn’t want to lose him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should mention: I don't hate the Railroad or Deacon. It's just that poor MacCready is tired and jealous and can't express his feelings like an adult. But don't worry, he'll learn to, all in good time. 
> 
> Let me know what you think, and as always: thanks for reading! Hope you all have a great week.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for shots of the non-stimpack variety

MacCready’s mood didn’t improve during their entire time at the Railroad, and even after they had left. The smug happines he had carried around ever since the death of Winlock and Barnes had gone for good, it seemed, and he was even more cross and irritated than he had been when he and Ben had first met. For his part, Ben had absolutely no idea what the source could be, but he hoped it let up soon – as much for MacCready’s sake as his own. 

Luckily, it was feral ghouls and unwitting raiders that took the brunt of his anger, and not Ben – a blessing for which Ben was grateful, though he should’ve known it was only a matter of time before that changed. 

It happened on a Wednesday, that much was certain. Ben always took his T shots on Wednesdays. Before then, MacCready had either not noticed or not cared when that dreaded time of the week came around, but now he watched carefully – the rifle he had been cleaning abandoned - as Ben pulled the amount advised by Dr. Sun into the syringe, swapped the needles, and braced himself for the moment when he’d have to jab the thing in himself. This was always his least favorite part. He was a military man, and had been shot many times before, but he’d still readily admit he was afraid of needles, and there was no shame in that. It made stimpacks hell though. 

Just as he’d about plucked up the courage, MacCready snorted. Ben lifted his head to look over, and was met with a look of disdain. He felt an ice cold rod of panic shoot through his stomach as he realized that MacCready may have just figured it out. But before he could open his mouth to explain… 

“What are you shooting up this time Ben? Jet? Med-X? Or is this some weird concoction you made yourself.” 

Ben stopped, his clarification on his lips, as he realized that MacCready really had no clue. 

“I…”

“Just forget it. I should introduce you to Mayor Hancock sometime. You’d probably hit it off with him too.”

And with that, he got up from his seat on the ground next to Ben – rifle still abandoned and half clean – and stepped over the bodies of several raiders on his way to settle himself in the furthest mattress from Ben’s own. 

Ben sighed. That definitely could’ve gone better, although his mind was too busy creating scenarios in which it had gone worse. Maybe it was time to fill MacCready in. Better to do it now. He was already attached to the short and angry man to an extent he hadn’t anticipated when he’d first hired him. Any more of this and he’d be in some serious pain if and when MacCready decided to ditch out on him because of his past. 

He sighed, finished his shot, and moved to settle himself on the dirty mattress he had chosen, his bed feeling for some reason more empty than it had in the last 200 years. 

 

******** 

The next morning began as many mornings in the Commonwealth did – with the muffled pat-pat-pat of gunfire. Ben jolted awake, the sun shining directly in his eyes and blurring his vision for a few seconds that felt like minutes. When they finally adjusted to the morning light, he saw MacCready – already up, rifle clean – kneeling at the window and taking potshots at some super mutants half a block away. 

All in all, not a bad way to start the day. 

Ben pushed himself up to a squat and snuck his way over next to him, carefully peering out the window to watch the confusion and directionless anger on the super mutant’s faces as they saw another one of their fellows go down with a clean headshot. Without even bothering to be ashamed, Ben let out a giggle, rough from just waking up. MacCready gave him a startled glance, which quickly turned into a grin, and joined in – his own laugh deep and full. They sat there for several more minutes, chuckling shoulder to shoulder, until the rest of the super mutants had been taken out. 

Despite MacCready’s terrible technique and form - they found, as they went to loot the bodies after eating a breakfast that was lacking to say the least, that each mutant had been taken out with a clean kill-shot. 

“I’ll give you credit for that, Creads. That’s a damn fine aim you’ve got yourself.” 

MacCready just grinned and mumbled something about never getting any respect from a man who was probaby the worst shot in the Commonwealth. Ben shot the super mutant body that MacCready was looting right in the head, making it jolt post-mortem, and giggled again as MacCready jumped back with an undignified cry. He’d made his point. 

Lunch was arguably even less satisfying than breakfast, as they only had bloatfly meat and sugarbombs on them, and little could be made of that. They each sat privately imagining a nice juicy cut of Brahmin flank steak, marinated just right, with bits of carrot flower sprinkled on top… until MacCready finally broke the silence. 

“Um, sorry. By the way.” 

Ben looked up, jolted out of his reverie (and right as he’d been about to add buttered corn to the equation too). “What about?” he asked politely, although he already knew. 

“Yesterday. And the days before. I was just…” What? Jealous? It was true, although somehow telling that to Ben seemed a bit strange. “Reminded of home. That’s all. The tunnels the Railroad lives in reminded me of Little Lamplight, a bit. And they were sort of like…” well, he hadn’t really thought of it at the time, but now that he had he couldn’t stop. He needed to tell Ben. This was the kind of thing he’d understand. Despite his dirty tricks and sticky fingers, he was a comforting person at heart, and right now that was exactly what MacCready needed. “…They reminded me of this place… um, I used to have a wife. Lucy. I loved her more than anything, and we had a son…Duncan. But one day we holed up in the subway system near Diamond City, just for the night. We were tired and didn’t want to keep walking, so we made a camp down there and didn’t properly check for danger.” His voice was monotone, and his emotions kept in check, as he stared at the dwindling fire they’d used to cook the bloatfly not too long ago. “… the ferals got her. I was able to grab Duncan before they got him too, but I couldn’t stop them from tearing her apart. I had to leave as quickly as I could. I had to save him. So anyway… it reminded me a bit more of that than I would’ve liked.”

Ben said nothing, trying to convey his comforting thoughts in a stare and a small smile, somehow knowing that keeping quiet and keeping his distance might – counterituitively – be what was best. 

MacCready continued before he knew what he was doing. 

“And now Duncan is sick. I’ve got him taken care of, far away from here. Took him back to the place he was born. But he’s really sick, and I’ve got to find a way to fix him.” 

At this point, still relatively emotionless, he looked up and met Ben’s eyes. And though his face was calm and relaxed, his eyes betrayed him, as filled with fear and nervousness as they were. 

Ben felt something pull at his heart, and despite his own worries for his own son, he knew immediately he wasn’t going to let MacCready go without helping him first. 

“Ok, what can I do?”

****** 

Med-Tek Research was, as it turned out, only a few miles off from where they had stopped for lunch, and by the time they reached it the beginnings of dusk had only begun to creep across one corner of the sky. 

That was where their problems began. 

The second they arrived in the courtyard, they were swarmed by ferals, and despite MacCready’s dedication to mocking them between shots, they were both clearly overwhelmed. 

That was when the Deathclaw came. 

As MacCready had long known, every situation had its pros and cons. A plus for the arrival of the Deathclaw was the sweeping ease with which it took out the remaining feral ghouls.

A minus was clearly evident as he was forced to watch the thing sink its protracted claws deep into Ben’s turned back with one sickening slice. Another minus was the strangled yell of warning that escaped from his lips seconds that felt like hours too late.

After that, the fight was a blur. He was vaguely aware of Ben getting back up and helping him take the thing down, but that did nothing to slow the fury pumping through his veins. 10 minutes later he felt like he had become conscious again, resurfacing from the adrenaline he’d taken a headfirst dive into, and he was again conscious of his actions. 

Especially of the fact that he had both hands pressed against his Boss’ chest and was looking very purposefully into his eyes. 

Ben, for his part, was returning the look with eyes full of concern and… something else. Something familiar, though MacCready couldn’t quite put a finger on it. 

Before he could think it through, he felt his hands slide away, glad to find that Ben had suffered little – if any – damage after applying a stimpack to the area. He then looked over at the mutilated body of the Deathclaw, and wondered if it were possible he’d overreacted. Although maybe the if wasn’t so important as the why. 

He’d figure it out later, they had a job to do. 

They took the rest of the building with relative ease, often sniping down the ferals that roamed aimlessly indoors before they even knew they were there. MacCready spent the majority of the time feeling distracted in 100 different ways. He worried about Duncan, and whether they’d find the cure. And if they did, would it reach him on time? Would he be better off with MacCready nearby? Was he happy? 

He also worried about Ben, but for this one, he didn’t know why. 

After dozens of dead ferals and seemingly endless flights of stairs, they finally reached the cure, and the whole thing was rather anticlimactic. After all the time MacCready had spent obsessing over it, there it was, sitting in a small vial, and looking as plain as possible. 

He couldn’t keep the grin off his face. 

“We did it… holy crap, we did it… We can give Duncan a fighting chance.”

He looked up to see Ben, wearing a smile that mirrored his own, despite the fact that his joy was only secondhand. MacCready didn’t know that he’d ever understood the feeling before. 

“I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you,” he continued, “seriously, you’ve done so much. But I’ll try, believe me.” 

Ben’s grin turned a bit shiteating at that, and he replied: 

“I don’t know Creads, you’re aready running quite the tab.” 

And despite the fact that he was joking, and that he’d never expected anything in return, MacCready knew it was true. 

They elected to stay the night at the newly-cleared Med-Tek Research, rather than try to find somewhere better to stay in what was at this point the middle of the night. There were plenty of beds, but they were all in separate rooms, and though neither would admit it they didn’t feel safe splitting up for the night. Instead, they elected to close the door, lock it from the inside, and share the bed, like any close friends who were nothing more would. 

MacCready only had platonic intentions towards him. Ben knew this. He’d never done anything to suggest otherwise. 

Despite the confusing sadness this caused him, he slept soundly - feeling more comfortable and safe than he had in months, and completely unaware of the hand belonging to his friend that moved to fist itself protectively in his jacket as they both slept on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, once again! This chapter may feel a bit rushed, but we're getting into the really fun stuff now. I'll likely update the next two chapters together, or in 24-hour succession, cause reading one without the other is.....   
> Anyway, have a great week, all!


	5. Chapter 5

Ben was an absolute idiot. 

That was the only thing that had been going through MacCready’s mind for the past two days. 

Ben was a complete moron. 

Had he been a little more attuned to his own emotions, MacCready likely would’ve recognized that this annoyance with his boss was rooted – mostly – in worry for his safety. The man had left for the Glowing Sea alone nearly 48 hours ago, and since then there had been not one indication that he’d even made it there. 

MacCready knew there was all sorts of danger in the wasteland. There were radscorpions and glowing Deathclaws – not to mention the children of Atom, crazy bas…. Uh, freaks. His mind constantly played a hundred and one different ways in which Ben might’ve met his fate – the idiot – and with each one he became more annoyed. 

He never should’ve given him his 200 caps back. 

Ben’s other friends, who seemed to follow him around like puppies – in one case literally – all seemed much more relaxed about the circumstances. They had all holed up in Ben’s place in Diamond City - which he had affectionately named Home Plate - and awaited his return, some with breath more bated than others. Piper – a journalist with the tendency to nickname everyone – had spent the time writing God knows what on Ben’s junky old typewriter (why did he keep all this crap), while constantly fiddling with the brim of her cap (a trait MacCready couldn’t tell if he found annoying or endearing). 

Cait – an Irish fighter with a constantly split lip – had spent the time throwing herself across every available surface (including Piper and the pool table) in a dramatic act of boredom, and drinking enough of Ben’s Nuka Cola to kill a man. 

Nick Valentine, a synth whose legend preceded him, had probably handled it best, and had spent hours simply sitting on the couch – hands clasped between his knees – and only offering the occasional quip to let everyone know he hadn’t simply powered down to await Ben’s return. 

MacCready, for his part, had spent the last two days reading every comic and magazine Ben kept on the many racks in his reading nook, bouncing his leg up and down incessantly, and every once in a while giving Dogmeat an affectionate scratch between the ears. 

It had been a relaxing hell. 

Finally, on day three, he decided he’d had enough. 

“Come on Nicky, we’re going out.”

And without even waiting to see if the synth had registered his words, he grabbed his gun – which had been cleaned five times in the last 72 hours – and headed out the door. 

**** 

Luckily – or perhaps unluckily – enough, Nick had in fact heard him, and had followed him out the door and through the gates of Diamond City without a question. MacCready wouldn’t even have noticed, as the synth had yet to say a word, if it hadn’t been for the gentle whirring of the gears that kept the man moving that could be heard in their silence. 

MacCready opted to give no explanation, and simply lead on until they reached a suitably intact abandoned house, headed upstairs, and set up camp. 

“We going shooting then MacCready? I’m assuming that piece on your arm isn’t just decorative.”

Refusing to let the silence be broken, MacCready simply nodded, and began to set up his rifle in a sniping position out the window. 

All in all, Nick wasn’t a bad guy. A bit strange, yes, and had MacCready been his younger and more terrified self he would’ve distrusted him on account of his being a synth, but really – when it came down to it – Nick was a solid type. 

When he wasn’t being nosy, anyway. 

“So, how have you and Ben been getting along? I haven’t received my wedding invitation yet, but it seems to be going well.” 

MacCready remained pointedly silent, although his tendency to blush through his ears – damn them – had probably betrayed him. What a stupid joke to make about a guy and his boss. Synth humor was bullshit… or crap, anyway. 

Luckily, a pack of super mutants had just become visible in his scope, offering a convenient change of subject. 

“Come on Nicky, they don’t call you the synth sensation for nothing, show those super mutants a block up what you’re made of.”

 

They made unfortunately quick work of the super mutant pack, as MacCready annoyed them into charging toward them with initial chest shots, while Nick finished them off as they drew nearer – his aim surprisingly good for someone with synthetic eyes and a pistol. 

Their combined talents left them back where they had begun in only fifteen minutes, with Nick sitting against the wall and asking too many questions while MacCready searched desperately for more distraction through the lens of his scope. 

“You never answered my question, MacCready. What are your thoughts on the man himself?” 

MacCready decided to ignore the fact that that was not even the initial question, and instead resigned himself to answering. 

“Not much. He’s a good boss, as far as the types that will hire mercenaries go. He’s a half decent shot, although I’d never tell him that. He’s still got that fresh outta the vault look though, and he’s a cocky son of a bitch.” 

“That seems like a pretty lukewarm answer, sunshine, considering how you’ve been pining after him for the past three days.” 

MacCready attempted to return his attention to his task at hand, annoyed both by the nickname and the implication. But he couldn’t help responding. 

“I haven’t. He’s just the only one that’s been willing to hire me in a while, and the wasteland is dangerous for a vaultie like him. The idiot should’ve brought protection. Like you, you’re not even effected by rads, are you?” 

He wondered briefly if there was anything offensive about mentioning their differences to Nick, but decided that at this point the synth was asking for it. 

“I dunno, sunshine. What you’ve been doing seems a lot like pining, moping, whatever you wanna call it. I think you’ve got it bad.” 

MacCready refused to think this through, feeling the pit of nervousness he’d been ignoring in his stomach grow bigger. He was about to ask whether Nick thought Ben was ok when he got an answer in a form he hadn’t been expecting. 

One of the flares the Minutemen had given Ben lit up the sky only a few blocks from where they crouched. 

Something was wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the bit of a wait, I was busy. And by busy, I mean that I came out to my parents, something I never thought I'd do - at least for years and years. It went surprisingly well though! I'm really happy. 
> 
> The next chapter will come within 24 hours, and probably sooner, as I hate to leave you with a cliffhanger. And, as always, thanks for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Creads swears when he's worried.

The time it took MacCready to pack up his gun and get out of the abandoned building seemed to take both hours and an instant. As he rushed down the stairs – fully aware that his concern was telling of something, yet uncertain as to what – his mind was playing every apocalyptic scenario under the moon on a continual loop. By the time he passed the gates of Diamond City - where the few of Ben’s fellow Minutemen who always seemed to wander the market had begun to rush out in response to the call for help - he was certain there’d be nothing left of his boss by the time he reached him but the stupid jacket he always wore. 

That ass was going to get himself killed. 

The strange and motley group ran silently toward the drifting smoke that was all that remained of Ben’s flare, which hung like a shroud over a cluster of abandoned shopping centers visible in the distance. When they were within a few dozen yards of the area, the Minutemen began to fan out with surprising precision, as if they had practiced some sort of drill for this exact scenario. 

Come to think of it, maybe they had. MacCready didn’t really know much about them despite his familiarity with their leader. 

As soon as they took their positions they looked toward MacCready, as if waiting for his go ahead to begin their attack on whatever lay before them. 

“Well go on, send them off,” said the voice of Nick Valentine, who MacCready was embarrassed to admit he’d forgotten was with him. 

He nodded, first at Nick, and then to the group in general. 

And with that, they stormed in. 

The first thing that became obvious was who they were dealing with. As he ran up to the corner of a derelict building and peered round he saw flashes of sack hoods, leather armor, and pipe pistols. 

Raiders. 

The second thing that became obvious was their ease. They weren’t fighting anyone, or even searching around as if a target had slipped away. 

That was not a good sign. 

Instead of allowing himself to ponder the implications of what he saw ahead of him, MacCready decided to do what he did best. Shoot. 

The red flashes of the Minutemen’s guns being unloaded began blinding him before he even lined up his first shot. Despite this, as always, his aim was solid, and he took down a Raider with a shot to the knee, followed by shots to the chest and head in quick succession. 

He then ran in, and everything turned into the good kind of blur that accompanies a fight you know you’re going to win. It had only been five minutes before the majority of the Raiders had been taken down, and he was able to focus once more on the task at hand. 

Where was Ben? 

He rubbed nervously at a small nick on the arm he’d received from a falling Raider with terrible aim, and shouldered his gun as he began to search. He scanned the booths and counters of the abandoned malls, looking for a place where Ben might’ve been able to hide while trying not to admit to himself that he was also picking through the bodies he stepped over as he walked, part of him expecting the worst. 

In the end, Nick found him first. Damned detective. 

MacCready saw the synth rush over to a destroyed turret and kneel at its base, clearly giving his full attention to a form that lay crumpled there. He stood frozen in place for one second, two hours, he wasn’t sure, before jogging over with intentional calmness to join Valentine. 

Sure enough, there was Ben. MacCready’s heart and stomach did some sort of coordinated somersault he knew he’d have to think about later when he saw that his boss had taken a few bad shots to the chest and arm, but was still breathing. It was his trigger arm too. Fucking Raiders. 

Nick picked up the unconscious form of his friend gently, summoning some sort of synth strength he didn’t know he had, and turned to MacCready. 

“He’ll be alright, sunshine. Go through the Raiders. Find all his stuff, I’m sure they took it, and bring it with you. I’ll take him to Doctor Sun.” 

“Be quick” MacCready replied, as if that was something Nick hadn’t considered before then, but instead of annoyance he only received a sympathetic look in return as Valentine turned to leave. 

He watched the synth carry his boss with deep purposeful strides until he was no longer visible, before turning back to the fight at hand. He was surprised to see, however, that the Minutemen had taken care of the rest of the Raiders in his distraction, and were now taking turns trying to snipe the last one standing – a particularly small man who kept peering from behind a brick chimney on the building above them, still determinedly shouting curses and taking poorly aimed shots at the small crowd below. MacCready lined up his rifle and took him down in one, much to the disappointment of the rest of the group. 

He offered them no explanation as to what had happened to their leader, and instead gave them a nod that was a clear invitation to go back to where they’d come from. As the men and women filed away, some nursing small injuries, others laughing and shoving each other, he began to go painstakingly through each of the Raider’s bodies, looking for anything that might be Ben’s. He found his Boss’ favorite gun on the body of a woman who had clearly taken a clean headshot, and his caps stash on another. 

And then, among a pile of glowing ash that was all that was left after a good shot from a fusion cell, he found Ben’s chems. The different sized syringes, the jar of clear liquid he consistently used – which was unlike anything MacCready had seen before, but he was sure was nothing good. He had half a mind to leave it all there and force Ben to sober up, but he grabbed all of it with a scowl of distaste and shoved it into his pocket. 

He searched the remaining bodies, finding useful little odds and ends, and a few more of Ben’s belongings, before adjusting his rifle on his shoulder and turning to march home. 

If his boss came out of this alive, he was going to get an earful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A small update, but within 24 hours as promised. 
> 
> The slow burn starts to pay off now, so good on all of you that have read this far! I definitely appreciate it. 
> 
> Hope you all have a great week! And hey, thanks.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for discussions of addiction.

Ben awoke like a train wreck - sudden and jarring and much too fast to be comfortable. He also made an unbecoming snort, which was much too ugly to fit into the metaphor, as he opened his bleary eyes and looked dazedly at the shapes that surrounded him. 

“Your glasses are on the table beside you” said a disinterested voice that came from one of the more green and brown blurs in his line of sight. Ben nodded gratefully in its direction, before reaching over and fumbling for his prewar wire rims. 

MacCready – the owner of the voice - just sat there and did his best attempt at a stoic expression. He was internally very relieved to see his boss wake up after nearly 48 hours unconscious, but he’d be damned if he let the man know it. 

He watched as Ben slipped the glasses on and let himself adjust to his regained vision. He’d never even noticed the glasses before the night he’d had to take them off his unconscious boss, worried that his fitful and feverish sleeping would snap them in half. He’d never noticed the deep brown eyes that sat behind them either, until they looked at him now for the first time in way too long. 

They needed to talk, but he wasn’t going to be the one to start. 

Ben examined him carefully, sliding up to a sitting position so they could be on equal ground for reasons he didn’t quite know. His back hurt - particularly on the lower left side, where he could blurrily remember being hit. Or shot. Or perhaps stabbed. He really didn’t know. It throbbed like a son of a bitch though. 

Finally, he gave in and spoke. 

“I assume you saved me. If that’s the case, thanks.” 

MacCready leveled him with a bitter look before responding. 

“Thank Nick. I may have shot a few Raiders, but he’s the one that carried your dumb ass back home.” 

Swearing. Ben knew that wasn’t a good sign. 

“Well if I know you Creads, and I do, you definitely shot more than a few.” His grin was met with a wince and a glower at the familiar nickname, and he knew then that he was definitely in trouble. 

There was a pause that was more than pregnant, and definitely more than comfortable. Ben began again. 

“So…” 

“-How could you.” MacCready cut him off. “How could you do that.” 

Do what, exactly? Ben had no idea, but he had little time to ask as MacCready began to hit his stride. 

“You went off to the Glowing Sea alone, didn’t even bring Nick with you even though god knows the guy can handle a few rads. And then, on your way back, not even a few blocks from Diamond City, you decide to take a chem break? In the middle of the day, with raiders, super mutants, and the goddamn gunners just waiting to run across someone so stoned out of their gourd they can use them for target practice. Do you not have any common sense at all?” 

Ben was truly confused at this point, but didn’t dare interrupt. 

“Yeah, Ben, I saw the needles. The raiders had them, all ready to go, and there’s no way they knew how to do that, you’re so titchy about it. Yeah, I know all about it at this point. I’ve seen you injecting who knows what into your leg on a regular basis, and I never said anything cause you’re my boss and its not my job to judge a guy’s decisions, but honestly, couldn’t you have waited until you got home before shooting up? You’ve got a problem.” 

Ben had more than caught on by now, and the familiar feeling of ice cold fear began leaking through him, tinged just slightly with the red of anger. He had to explain now, and fuck MacCready if he was bad about it. 

Despite his emotions, he started slowly. 

“There’s a reason for that, you know. I stopped on the side of the road because I needed a break for lunch anyway, and I’d seen the look you gave me when I did the injections in front of you. You’re not that subtle.” 

MacCready glared and began to argue, but Ben continued. 

“It doesn’t matter, the point is that you’re wrong. I’m not shooting up. No really, I’m not. That’s not just some hybrid chem I came up with or something. It’s prescribed medicine, and I need to take it every week.”

“Then what is it, exactly? Or, I mean, you’re not dying are you? Or is that rude to ask…“

“-No Creads, I’m not dying. It’s testosterone. My body doesn’t produce that by itself. I’m transgender.” 

At this point, Ben was no solid judge of time, as his heart – which beat wildly in his chest – was going too fast to count by, and the seconds seemed both too fast and too slow. 

MacCready – finally – gave a noncommittal huff in response. Ben waited for more, but… fuck, was that it? 

“Do you know what that means?” 

MacCready nodded, his expression blank. 

“I was told I was a girl when I was young, but I’m not.” 

MacCready continued to stare, his expression unreadable. 

“I take testosterone so that I my body doesn’t become too feminine and cause me dysphoria.” 

Another nod. Honestly, what in god’s name was going on. Ben sat and waited for a response this time, his nervous shifting the only sound that cut into the silent air. 

Finally, seconds that felt like minutes later, MacCready stood and spoke. 

“Well, your chem bag is in the dresser over there when you need it. Don’t do anything stupid, just sleep some more or something. And for god’s sake, don’t go out again without me or someone else who’s got your back. You’re not that good a shot.” 

And with that, he exited the room, with barely a nod goodbye. 

Ben sat dumbfounded. Admittedly, he wasn’t quite sure why MacCready’s response mattered so much to him, but there was no denying that it did. The leftover adrenaline of fear coursed through his veins, as he tried to ascertain what – exactly – just happened. 

And MacCready – barely a room away – slumped against the wall, unable to think of anything but how soft and thick Ben’s dark hair had looked when he’d just woken up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fear not, for I bring you good tidings of great gay, which shall be unto all further chapters! The worst is behind us, people. 
> 
> This chapter was admittedly a bit short and not necessarily sweet, but the next will come soon, and there will be enough sweet to go around. 
> 
> In the meantime, follow my blog of the same username, or check out the playlist I made for writing this fic, and which I now listen to while playing Fallout! The cover art is a picture of Ben rolling his eyes at MacCready, if that's any incentive. It can be found here: http://8tracks.com/trainthief/a-hundred-miles


	8. Chapter 8

The next time Ben woke up, everything was orange. Orange and fuzzy. And covered in bloatflies. He may have been hallucinating. His various and unfortunately extensive wounds from the mishap with the raider camp had left him susceptible to sickness, and he now had a nasty fever with a strength to rival a one of the uranium sort. 

MacCready had done his best to take care of him, and he certainly wasn’t the only one. Ben had built quite a group of trusted friends, all of whom would admit – although some grudgingly – that keeping him alive was a priority in their worlds. So he’d had rotations of people feeding him soup (in Piper’s case), sitting in quiet companionship (Nick), and telling him disgustingly graphic stories that were likely doing no favors to his feverish mind (Hancock, whom MacCready had been surprised to see, as he didn’t know that he and Ben were close). All of this amounted to a constant guard over his well-being, and for that MacCready was secretly grateful. In fact, if anything, he could’ve done more, but he’d been a bit distracted trying to figure out what was going on in his own mind. 

He’d taken weeks to allow himself to trust his boss, but once he had it’d been a slippery slope. He had felt…. something else…. for a long time, and despite the fact that it had taken him forever to recognize it, and even longer to admit it to himself, he was now at a point where he couldn’t ignore it any longer. 

He was a bit in love. With Ben, of all people. 

His first reaction had been to ignore it and hope it’d go away, but like a nasty infection or a gunshot to the abdomen – both of which he’d had – ignoring it just made it worse. He then made a concentrated effort to push it away. After all, he really had no hope here did he? But he’d been about as unsuccessful there as it’s possible to be. He was now faced with the reality that he had to fess up. And he would, but not yet. Not without his game plan. 

He was going to have to flirt. He hadn’t done that since Lucy, and even then he’d been terrible at it. But Ben did it to everyone, and he was pretty terrible at it too, so maybe it would work out. 

Might as well give it a shot, anyway. 

If there was anything that he’d be willing to congratulate himself on, it was his willingness to look fear in the eyes and say “fuck you”, or at least something of the less profane equivalent. That was why the moment he came up with a solid plan, he put it into action. He was taking care of Ben that day, and everyone else was off at the Diamond City market, doing god knows what with god knows who. It was really a stroke of luck, and as MacCready nervously fiddled with the carrotflowers he’d picked outside the city walls, and the wooden toy soldier in his pocket, he couldn’t help but wonder if they’d known what he was up to. It would certainly explain the smirk and wink Hancock had given him as he’d strutted out the door.  
He sat on the swiveling chair at the desk in Ben’s room, half watching over him and half just waiting until he woke up. Luckily enough for MacCready’s notoriously short patience, that didn’t take long. 

 

“….Bees? No, where’s my Kleenex. Shut up, you made it worse.” 

Ben was waking up, and he was clearly both groggy and feverish. The perfect storm. 

“Ben, you alright? You’re at Home Plate. Can you open your eyes?” 

Ben drowsily complied, and his dark eyes finally met MacCready’s. That definitely should not have given him as much of a thrill as it did, but now was not the time to focus on that. 

“Hey Creads…. Where’d the bees go?” 

MacCready decided not to answer (partially because he had no idea what a bee was) and opted to give him an amused look instead. Ben frowned. 

“Your flowers probably scared them off. Why do you have those?” 

MacCready gave himself a moment to steel his nerves before answering. 

“…..They’re for you.” 

Ben responded with a sloppy but cheek-splitting grin, and suddenly MacCready had the courage to continue. 

“I got them for you cause I wanted to talk to you about something.” 

Ben frowned in a goofy and fever-ridden way, and nodded solemnly for him to continue. 

“… Well, I’ll start by saying that I’ve liked getting to travel with you. Goodneighbor was a lousy place to hang your hat, but don’t tell Hancock I said that. He’d probably kill me.” 

Ben smiled, still clearly a bit dazed, and MacCready set the flowers on the desk, cleared his throat, and continued. 

“Anyway, I figure, after everything you’ve done, I owe you something. And I always repay my debts. So I wanted you to have this.” 

He pulled the wooden soldier from his pocket, and held it carefully in his rough hands, before setting it on the desk near Ben’s head, where it was clearly visible to him. 

“I know a carved toy soldier is a strange way to thank you, but this one is special… It means a lot to me.” 

Ben looked at it in sleepy awe, before asking “Whoa… did you make this?” 

MacCready laughed. “Ha, no, do I look like the artistic type to you? My wife gave it to me. I… I told her I was a soldier, and she made it for me. I couldn’t bring myself to tell her the truth… that I was a hired killer. I didn’t want to lose her, you know?” 

Ben nodded solemnly. 

“She died… a few years back. Ferals got her. Ripped her apart right in front of me. She always gave me the strength to move on. She was a shoulder to lean on. When she died I thought that feeling was lost forever… And then I, uh,.. And then I met you. And now, for once in my life, everything is going right, and I have you to thank for it.” 

MacCready waited expectantly for Ben’s response, unsure and frightened as to what would come next. He’d laid almost all his cards on the table, and now he needed some indication as to whether he should go all in. 

Ben looked around dazedly, and his eyes rested on the flowers MacCready had left on his desk. His face lit up. 

“Oooh, cool flowers. Where did they come from?” 

Dammit. 

MacCready sighed. Ben was clearly much too feverish to have a conversation like this. It was time to adjust course. So much for getting to the point. Maybe it was better if he tried the long con on this one. He smiled sadly at Ben, and got up to leave, but Ben grabbed his arm before he could, and looked at him with a bit more clarity in his eyes than he’d seen yet. 

“Creads, what’s up? Do you need something?” 

MacCready hesitated. If he was going to do this, he may as well put all his cards on the table. Especially when he knew full well that Ben would remember none of this in the morning. 

“No Ben, I’m fine. I’m just in love with you, and I’m planning on doing something about it when you’re less stupid and more aware. I’m hoping what we have can turn into something more, but we’ll see. For now, you need to get some rest.” 

Ben smiled warmly, and let go of MacCready’s arm. 

“Oh, that’s good news. I’m glad. Ok, I’m going to sleep now. Goodnight Creads.” 

And with that he snuggled down into his bed, and closed his eyes. And if MacCready pressed a kiss to his feverish forehead before he left, who could blame him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why is it that what looks like a lot of writing in Word translates into a tiny chapter on Ao3?? 
> 
> Sorry I took so long to update. I've honestly had a terrible week. But I'm hoping this chapter brings some people joy, cause someone around here has gotta be happy. 
> 
> In other news, I have a question for all of you. As the story is currently written, it has no real sexy scenes. However, I'm willing to give that a go if that's something my readers are interested in. If you have strong opinions one way or the other, leave me a comment! 
> 
> Hope you all have a great week. Next update will come soon.


	9. Chapter 9

The next time Ben woke up, his fever had cleared, and had left behind nothing but the vague impression that he’d had a really great dream. As he cracked open his eyes, still stiff with illness, he tried – in vain – to remember what it had been. When his gaze finally rested on a small wooden soldier on the desk next to him he briefly caught a glimpse of some memory, but before he could recall anything of use it had vanished again. 

MacCready, meanwhile, had taken to avoiding Home Plate to the extent that was possible in the cramped confines of Diamond City. Despite the nerves that had cropped up now that he’d put his plan into action, he didn’t want to go too far from his boss - and didn’t even think he could, quite honestly. It was as if a string was tied between his heart and Ben’s, and if either were to go too far a distance from the other it would snap, and cause some sort of internal damage far worse than any gunshot he’d ever received. He scowled at the noodles he’d picked up at the market, beyond annoyed at the sappiness and emotion he was becoming predisposed to. 

Strangely enough, however, the following weeks contained no major breakthroughs for either of them. Ben remained puzzled by the feeling of warmth he had woken up to – which he was now sure had nothing to do with his fever - and MacCready continued to drag his feet in taking any great steps in his plan, for reasons he’d tried to tell himself were only practical and not at all related to the colony of butterflies that had taken residence in his stomach and refused to leave ever since he had kissed Ben on his too-warm forehead two weeks prior. The only real difference between the two of them now was that they traveled together more than ever, so much so that Ben’s other frequent companions had long since left Home Plate for “your other settlements, that at least have more than one bed… dumbass”…. The dumbass part, had – of course – been Hancock, and had been responded to with a quick flick between the eyes from Ben, and a middle finger from MacCready. 

Boy, would Duncan be disappointed in him. 

To the point, though, little had changed between them for the first two weeks, until – for some reason – the bullets began. 

This was still behavior with which Ben was thoroughly confused. He had thought that he’d understood MacCready – to the extent that any sane person could, of course – but he was proven wrong in a slow and subtle way, when MacCready began, for whatever reason, to give bullets to him. 

It had started when they’d stopped for a disgusting lunch of Mirelurk steak and salsa (a recipe which was a confusing favorite of many Commonwealth dwellers, as it tasted alright but was ruined completely by its texture). Ben and MacCready quickly agreed on this front, as they did on most subjects, and a comfortable silence had fallen between the two as Ben had begun to dissemble and clean his gun. 

Without a word, MacCready had looked over, seen that Ben was running low on new 22 mm electromagnetic clips, and had given him a handful from his own pocket. When Ben had turned to thank him, he was already back to staring dazedly at the fire and chewing slowly at his tough – yet somehow still slimy – steak. 

That had been the beginning of a new tradition between the two of them, one that confused Ben to no end. Any time he began a conversation with MacCready, the man would reach into his pocket and hand him whatever ammo was in it. Sometimes it was just a few random bullets of different calibers, sometimes it was a fusion core - a gift of such generosity from a man that valued caps over his own safety that Ben was speechless and quite frankly worried the first few times it had happened. Wasn’t that a warning sign of a very deep depression? Giving away valuable belongings? Yes, it was. And Ben would have confronted him about it if the man hadn’t also been smiling and chatting more than ever, the confusing little shit. 

It wasn’t just the bullets that he handed to him that confused him though, it was also a different bullet. A single bullet. Which he could swear hadn’t always been there. 

There was a new bullet tucked in the band of his hat. 

This change had taken Ben longer to notice, and he probably wouldn’t have at all if MacCready hadn’t plunked the thing on his head wordlessly one particularly chilly night when even his comfiest pillows and warmest blankets couldn’t keep him from shivering. (Damn his naturally low body heat. Wasn’t testosterone supposed to help with that?) When he awoke the next morning, the hat had fallen to the floor, and he gave it a more scrutinizing look than he usually did. The thing was faded and patched, with dirt and sweat lines unabashedly visible, and sure enough, tucked on the left side were one, two… three bullets? 

This enigma bothered him even more than the other, if only for the reason that he wasn’t sure it was even any different. Maybe there had always been three bullets? He could swear there used to only be two. What were they even for? He had to know. 

Finally, one day, he dragged MacCready from the stack of comics he had been picking his way through the last few weeks to grab a bite at Power Noodles. A few glares from the mercenary had scared off all the other customers, and since it was getting late they were left at an empty bar with only two robots in earshot - one of whom couldn’t speak English, and the other yelling “Diamond City Surplus! We sell everything!” so loudly it was a wonder his acoustic instruments hadn’t combusted. 

Ben then began to put his infamous charisma to work. 

“So… what’s with the bullets?”

He winced inwardly. Oh yeah, he was smooth. 

MacCready gave him an amused look, and took a long bite of noodles before responding. 

“I don’t know what in the world you’re talking about boss.” 

“Well, it’s just that you hand me bullets every time you see me, and I’m pretty sure you’ve also added another to your hat.” 

MacCready took another long bite, calm and collected on the outside, but internally panicking. Crap, he was asking, and now was way too early in the plan to explain. But how to deflect? Joking? Yeah, that could work. 

“I just know you’re such a bad aim, boss, I want to make sure you even enough bullets to compensate for that. I can’t always be the one carrying us in a fight.”

“Ah, shut up Creads,” Ben said as he lightly punched his arm, “but for real. What’s with the new bullet in your hat? I’m not going crazy, am I? There definitely used to only be two.” 

MacCready was now in full fledged nervousness mode, and the butterflies in his stomach had awoken with brutal vengeance. Ben wasn’t going to let this go. Why was he so stupid and sentimental that he’d even done it? His only hope now was to be vague. 

“I… they represent something. Each one is a person I’m sworn to protect. Someone I really care about.” 

“So who are they Creads? If you don’t mind my asking.” 

…. Shit. 

“Well, the first one is Duncan, obviously.”

“Obviously.” 

“The second was for my wife, and I still keep it there.”

“That’s good of you.” 

“…and the last one is… hard to explain.” 

Ben stared for a moment, nonplussed, as MacCready once again began to shove noodles in his mouth out of sheer panic. He stopped, mid-bite, when a look of realization dawned across Ben’s face. 

“Oh. I get it… It’s for you. You’ve got your whole family up there, and you’re in a better place now, where you care about taking care of yourself, for Duncan, and…. Hopefully for your friends.” 

MacCready swallowed his half-chewed noodles in one painful bite, and nodded, eyes watering and unable to say anything else. Ben clapped his hand on his back good-naturedly. 

“Well I’m glad you’re taking care of yourself Creads, cause lord knows I care about you too.” 

And with that, they finished the rest of their food in peace, each staring at the various glows cast by the illuminated signs that were the only source of light in the darkening evening. MacCready, for his part, sat in confusion, unable to tell if he was relieved or disappointed that Ben – the idiot – hadn’t realized that the third bullet was for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boy oh boy, these two have got feelings. 
> 
> Sorry about the wait... again... I've had another bad week. Long story short, I'm getting kicked out for being trans. It's a bucket of fun, believe me. On the plus side though: I totally loved Far Harbor, I'm getting an apartment with my friend, and Robert Joseph MacCready is super gay for Ben, so not everything is terrible. 
> 
> Anyway, enough of me going on and on, to the point! I'm going to be in Germany, Austria, and Switzerland for the next two weeks, but hopefully before then I will have written at least one more chapter (and there's only a few more left, we're really winding down!) which I will queue up to post sometime while I'm gone. So never fear, the gay is still here! 
> 
> And on that note, I hope you all have an excellent week! Stay out of trouble! Hug your pets for me! If you have no pets hug a friend, or yourself! And above all, I hope you enjoyed the chapter, cause I definitely enjoy each and every comment and kudos I get.


	10. Chapter 10

For the longest time, MacCready woke to the image of blue eyes. 

Blue eyes followed him everywhere, from the earliest point he could remember. Blue eyes protected him from oncoming danger, and from his own temper. They watched his back as he slept and met his own gaze when he woke. 

Her blue eyes were the last thing left of Lucy as she’d been torn to bits that night in the tunnel. 

Duncan had been cursed with his father’s hazel eyes, which had quickly grown from eager to jaded much like his own. It had been like looking into a mirror, before they had become bloodshot and clouded with illness. MacCready imagined they’d be back to normal now, after he and Ben had found the cure for whatever it had been that had threatened to take him only a month ago. 

MacCready thought he’d live the rest of his life with the blue eyes following him, only ever in the corner of his view right before he woke from sleep. And in a way he was right. 

But now, those blue eyes were joined by jet black ones, constantly upturned with whatever joke or concentration was wrinkling them at the edges. Always watching him calmly and – he imagined – protectively. Less and less as an investment and more as a friend. 

He now woke up with the same blue eyes haunting him, and the same feeling of emptiness, but one that suddenly now filled - every once in a while - with only a glance. How disgustingly corny. 

Ben, for his part, didn’t give a shit about eyes. But he did know that a cocky smile and a stupidly neat haircut had been tugging at his heart for weeks if not months, and after all the times he’d told him about Nora, MacCready – the bastard – should’ve known those were his two weaknesses. 

********** 

MacCready and Ben had made a tradition of listening to the radio together since day one. Initially they’d had a preference for the classical station, both insisting it was for the drama and secretly knowing it was for the beauty, but that preference had recently been tainted after some unfortunate news as to its origin. Despite the blow to the sanctity of the tradition, neither wanted to lose it, and they switched to Diamond City radio, which – after a short adventure and a nice round of “bad cop/bad cop” to kick the DJ’s ass in gear – was teetering on the edge of “barely listenable”. They both hated it, but they hated it together, and that was what was important. 

Lately, on any given day, they could be found hating it together while eating a disgustingly green radstag and sitting as high up in a dead tree as they dared climb to escape the poisonous Far Harbor fog that drifted just a tad too slowly below. Ben would be hating it because it reminded him too much of the cloying perfection that was the world Pre-War. Despite his annoyance, he would still manage to sing along with a deep but plain voice:

“I’m as corny as Kansas in August  
High as a flag on the Fourth of July  
If you’ll excuse the expression I use,  
I’m in love, I’m in love,  
I’m in love, I’m in love,  
I’m in love with a wonderful guy!”

MacCready would be hating it because it reminded him too much of Ben. 

The song – whichever one it was - would always end with a tone of uncertainty and mutual annoyance at an unknown third party. 

Today, MacCready reached over and switched off the radio setting on Ben’s pip-boy absentmindedly, neither of them really catching on to the level of comfort and closeness the simple move displayed. He chewed on his radstag – which today had impressively managed to be both dry and tough – without giving much thought to anything but the fact that his “game plan” had started to feel less and less like a calculated move and more and more like putting off the inevitable. 

He reached into his pocket, and grabbed a handful of fusion cells, which he placed in Ben’s hand – already outstretched without even a look shared between them, as this ritual had become so commonplace between them it might have felt automated if it hadn’t still held meaning for both of them. 

For MacCready, it was his way of protecting Ben even when he wasn’t there. And although this sentiment had never actually been expressed – at least, they’d never had a serious conversation about it - Ben knew. He also knew that it was a bit of overkill, considering he didn’t plan on going anywhere without MacCready anytime soon. 

Ben, for his part, was today feeling stagnant and annoyed, and ready to pick a fight with anything that crossed his path. He nudged MacCready in yet another wordless communication between the two, and gestured with what was left of his disgusting lunch. MacCready loaded his gun lazily, Ben tossed the steak away from the tree underhand style, and MacCready shot it to pieces without even bothering to aim properly. They shared a smile, just like every other day. 

All in all, the afternoon would’ve been quite slow and nice, if trappers hadn’t decided to ruin it. 

In the end – as always – it was Ben’s insistence on taking care of his settlements that was their downfall. Despite the fact that they had one hundred and one other things to do, they had made plans that day to do a routine checkup on the National Park Visitors Center (which nearly always seemed to be under attack by something or another, despite the number of machine gun turrets Ben had built there out of pure annoyance) before heading over to the Eden Meadows Cinema to watch Night of the Fish Man’s Revenge for what may literally have been the 50th time. 

They’d barely made it a third of the way there, however, when the trappers attacked. In hindsight, it was possible they’d been joking with each other a bit too loudly for their own safety, but everything got a bit sloppy and muddled in the fog. By the time the first enemy shot rang out they were leaning on each other, wheezing with laughter, and feeling comfortably alone in the world. 

For that very reason, their entire flow of fighting was thrown off. They managed to take out three of the trappers that were bearing down on them, albeit a bit more slowly than they should’ve been able to as marksmen of their skill, before their leader – the mask-wearing coward – showed his face from behind what was left of a crab shack, and took a pot shot. One that went directly to Ben’s sternum. 

For MacCready, everything should’ve gone slow at that point. That’s what everyone always said it was like, when your life flashed before your eyes. That’s what he remembered happening when he made eye contact with Lucy for the last time. But instead, everything just sped up, including his thoughts. 

Fuck. 

He saw Ben twist with the impact, and fall over. 

Fuck. 

He turned and saw a trapper with a fishing spear bearing down on him, about to take a swing. 

Fuck. 

He remembered the last time he thought he’d been too late for Ben. When he’d found him unconscious in a camp of super mutants. That time he hadn’t even been there to see him get hit, and it’d been too much. 

Fuck this. 

He barely felt the spear tear through his calf as he turned to shoot the oncoming trapper point blank, before reloading and emptying his entire cartridge into the one who had shot his boss. 

He didn’t even bother to watch the bastard hit the ground, before he was reloading and cutting through the rest of the trapper gang like they were carnival targets. He might’ve been yelling, and he wasn’t sure what he’d said, but whatever it was Duncan wouldn’t be proud. 

He had a vague sense of the fact that he’d been hit a few more times, although whether the blows were bullets or baseball bats he had no idea. Everything felt the same at the moment, and he hardly took a moment for a conscious breath until he’d taken out every last one of them. 

Then he whipped around, and began scanning the ground manically for Ben’s body. He almost shot the guy out of shock when he realized he wasn’t lying prone somewhere, but was standing only a few feet away, staring with a worried expression at the explosive damage MacCready had left in his wake. 

“I…. you…”

Ben pointed calmly at the new suit of marine armor he’d picked up the day before, which had more than protected him from any serious harm. He then reached out slowly to put a firm hand on MacCready’s shoulder, and hazel eyes met black. 

“Creads…. You ok?” 

MacCready breathed heavily, unable to comprehend what had happened, and without much thought for the future he spoke:

“You’re the third bullet you idiot.” 

And with that, the adrenaline and blood loss got to him, and all he saw was black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!   
> This chapter feels a bit different from the others, but in my defense I'm currently sitting in my bed in Munich at 4 am listening to the sound of drunk men yodeling. I kid you not.   
> Aaaanyway, I hope you're all well! I realize this was a bit of a dramatic way to leave the chapter, but lemme tell ya...... the next one.... is...... super gay. So alls well that ends well, I suppose.   
> On that note, have a fantastic weekend, all! Sending you all the best vibes. Feel free to add me on tumblr, on my blog of the same name, or listen to my 8tracks playlist for this dynamic duo (again, under trainthief. At least I'm consistent).   
> Auf Wiedersehen!


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